


The northern look of the shore

by Deputychairman



Series: God help us both if this is summer [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Call of the Wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:21:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deputychairman/pseuds/Deputychairman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because they weren’t kids; this wasn’t Huckleberry fucking Finn of the North; and come to think of it didn’t even Huck Finn end up caught and sent to school? Ray couldn’t remember and he didn’t want to ask Fraser because then he’d have to tell him why he wanted to know. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Fraser rarely asked a direct question, and he could probably have guessed what was behind Ray’s sudden interest in literature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The northern look of the shore

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone gets to write a Call of the Wild story, right? Even if there are already 972 better ones out there? Ok good.
> 
> Thanks to Somebrightneuroticstar for beta and finding a nice way to tell me my sentences are too long. If they're still too long it's my own damn fault.

Ray was happy for the whole first month they were out there in the north.

  
Happy in the way he remembered from when he was a kid; like skipping school; like going fast on your bike; the physical exhilaration of doing something dangerous. And Ray had done plenty of dangerous shit when he was a kid so he knew what he was talking about. Had the scars to prove it, too. It came from the sled, it must have: the feeling of speed he got even when it couldn’t really have been going that fast. But it was close to the ground and the wind was in his face, and the landscape was new and strange and Fraser was showing it to him. Of course the feeling came from the sled, but it seemed to last even when they weren’t moving. They would stop to eat, to explore, and he would look over and meet Fraser’s eye and get a thrill from whatever this was. They’d grin at each other like conspirators, like they were getting away with something and couldn’t believe no-one had caught them yet. Which was kind of the recurring theme for him and Fraser; getting away with it when by all rights they ought to probably be dead, all the dumb stunts they’d pulled between them.  
  
He couldn’t see Fraser’s face while they were on the sled. When Ray was driving he was looking down on the top of Fraser’s head and sometimes caught a glimpse of skin at the nape of his neck between hat and collar. When Fraser was driving Ray couldn’t see him at all unless he turned right around, but Fraser often leaned forward to point things out to him, putting a hand on his shoulder and speaking close to his ear so the wind wouldn’t snatch his words away.  
  
When he could see Fraser’s face, he looked different to how he had in Chicago. He moved different, and not just because they were on snow. He seemed more relaxed; he actually _slouched_ , when they sat together at the fire in the dark. Like when there was only Ray to see him, this other, easy-going, approachable Benton Fraser came out. Ray liked the Chicago one a whole lot already, but he maybe actually liked this one even more.  
  
The first time this new dishevelled Fraser pulled his hat off and his hair stuck up like crazy, Ray hooted with laughter at him.

“Even if we don’t find Franklin, and I am eaten by polar bears and my bones are never found, this whole thing will have been worth it to see Mr Perfect Mountie with hat hair!”

Fraser clowned for him with that total deadpan he had, raising a hand to his wild-man hair and saying,

“Ah, no, I see that you misunderstand, Ray. This isn’t _hat hair_ ; this is in fact the height of fashion in the Northwest Territories.”

“Yeah, right, buddy. Whatever you say,”

When Ray didn’t stop laughing, Fraser said, “I can try and fix yours for you if you like,” and Ray felt that burst of exhilaration again then; _knowing_ that Fraser was gonna try and tackle him into the snow and mess up his hair if he carried on teasing him; wondering if he could move fast enough to dodge him out here, where Fraser had all the advantages of home turf.

Well, there was only one way to find out, wasn’t there?

“I dunno, Frase. You think I could pull it off? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not afraid to experiment with my hair, but I’m thinking I do not yet have your whole wilderness chic thing goin’ on. My look doesn’t say “Dances with Wolves” like yours does, so…”

Ray’d been good at schoolyard fights; he knew all about goading the other guy into swinging the first punch. Not that Fraser was going to punch him – they were done with punching each other; been there, done that, got the t-shirt even though you’d never see it under the 17 layers they were currently wearing, never doing it again, no way no how. No, his goofy smile had come out and Ray could tell he didn’t mind being laughed at now. But Ray saw him tense to spring so he leapt up first with a whoop of not-quite-pretend terror, and ran for it.

Turned out he could not move fast enough to dodge Fraser on snow. He got about five paces away before Fraser brought him down and they wrestled like kids for a second until Fraser had him pinned and was grinning down at him.

Ray went limp under Fraser’s weight, let his arms drop outstretched in the snow.

“Ok, wild man o’the north, I surrender. My hair is in your hands. Just don’t make me look like your buddy Delmar, ok?”

“You could always put your hat back on if you don’t like the results, Ray.”

“I’m never gonna _see_ the results, since we didn’t bring a mirror. So I’m gonna have to trust you. But just you remember, with great power comes great responsibility, so you use that wisely, ok?”

Fraser maybe didn’t get the comic book reference, but he moved to straddle Ray’s stomach in case he was still planning to make a break for it alone across the icy tundra, and messed up his hair but _good_.  Ray’s hair was probably really disgusting by now, but Fraser didn’t seem to mind. Actually the feel of his fingers against Ray’s scalp was weirdly pleasant; he found himself melting into it, and when finally Fraser stopped and pulled back, he had to bite off a small bereft sound that wanted to get out.

“There you are, Ray. I can safely say you will fit in anywhere in northern Canada now.”

“Appreciate it, Frase. Nothing worse than looking like a tourist, right?”

Fraser was still grinning and about to get off him as he reached up to feel the state of his hair, and continued:

“I mean, otherwise I might as well wear some really obvious _uniform_ or something, y’know, something in a really bright colour, that would shout out to everyone that I’m not from round here…”

And Fraser launched right back in on the attack with a muttered, “Oh, that does it…” until they were both panting and laughing.  
          

* * *

  
  
The second month he didn’t have that feeling of getting away with something any more.

It was like the time was slipping away, and Ray couldn’t forget the bubble they were in wasn’t going to last. This was a transition – this was some fucking symbolic journey, or something, to take them from one state of being to another. From a Ray-and-Fraser state to a Ray-on-his-own state, right? Of course this couldn’t last; Fraser was Canadian – newsflash! The Mountie’s a _Canadian!_ Ray always knew someday he was going to head back to Canada. The whole duet thing was on borrowed time, and Ray was a sucker for getting so _happy_  with it.

Because they weren’t kids; this wasn’t Huckleberry fucking Finn of the North; and come to think of it didn’t even Huck Finn end up caught and sent to school? Ray couldn’t remember and he didn’t want to ask Fraser because then he’d have to tell him why he wanted to know. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Fraser rarely asked a direct question, and he could probably have guessed what was behind Ray’s sudden interest in literature.

Sometimes though, when the light started fading and they stopped to make camp, Ray would feel another pointless burst of exhilaration, almost like fear. Like hurtling down that steep hill on Wentworth where Jimmy Beyer lost his front teeth swerving to avoid a car. When he tried to think about why it should hit him as they stopped, his brain seemed to slide away from it like there wasn’t any good gonna come from looking too close at some things.

So they’d set up the camp – fast now, Ray’d gotten good at his part – and he noticed the reckless grinning at each other had stopped, as if Fraser was feeling the same sort of dread at time passing that he was. But they still seemed to be looking at each other a lot, which he decided must be normal since there wasn’t anyone else out there to look at, was there? And when you’re travelling on a 6 foot sled with a guy, eating with him and sleeping next to him in a tiny tent every night, it’d be pretty weird to not look at each other, wouldn’t it? Or something.

He tried not to think about that either, to ask Fraser tempting questions about Canadian wildlife instead, and let the sound of his voice distract them both. But the last few days that wasn’t working so good. Like they both knew they weren’t talking because they wanted to, to entertain each other, but because they were avoiding something else.  
  
Once Fraser was halfway through telling him about some Inuit ceremony he’d been to when he just….trailed off, and the story stopped.

He looked over at Ray, face tight and miserable all of a sudden.

“Ray, I…” he began helplessly, before stopping again, hand still raised to illustrate a point he wasn’t making.

“Yeah, buddy, I know,” said Ray. He had to move then, and went over to the dogs because he couldn’t look at Fraser right now.

After a minute they got moving again and pretended nothing had happened.

 

  
At night in the tent it was easiest to ignore time passing. The tent was red and the lantern made a warm glow inside like nothing from outside could get them. Ray’d had a Polish storybook when he was a kid, and it reminded him of one of the pictures. A house in a snowy wood, with…goblins, or something, outside, and a little boy safe inside. He’d forgotten the story but he remembered the picture.

One night when the wind was high he told Fraser about that picture, and cut him off before he could do more than open his mouth.

“I do not want, right now, to hear a terrifying legend of death on the ice, ok? If you’ve got any reassuring, cosy tales for kids, bring ‘em on; otherwise I ain’t listening.”

Fraser said, “Ah,” then nothing else.

Ray turned in his sleeping bag and looked at him in surprise.

“Really? It’s all, ‘and then they were eaten by wolves’ with you? You got no ‘and then they lived happily ever after’?”

“Nothing that springs to mind at the moment, Ray, no.” He took a deep breath and let it out, laced his fingers over his chest. “But I suppose folk stories are cautionary tales, mostly, aren’t they? Warning us that arbitrary and unpredictable forces can upend our lives at any moment, and that cowardice and selfishness have consequences.”

“Whoa there, Fraser! What the hell did they give you to read when you were a kid? What about, um,” – he cast about wildly – “Sleeping Beauty? That’s not so dark, is it?”

“You mean the cruel hand of fate conspiring to keep the invitation from the Fairy Godmother, who curses the baby out of spite? And the one remaining spinning wheel in the kingdom that somehow finds its way to her and pricks her finger anyway? You may be more optimistic that I, Ray, but that story certainly says ‘random acts of suffering for no moral purpose’ to _me_.”

And – what? No way was Ray more optimistic than Fraser, that was all wrong. Fraser shouldn’t talk like that, he should be all about the indomitable (and that was a word he’d learned off Fraser right there) human spirit; and helping your fellow man; and stuff Ray couldn’t repeat all pretty but made _sense_ when Fraser said it and you knew he was right. So he couldn’t let that go.

“Ok point. Fine. Fine. But it’s got a happy ending. The prince, the kiss, the waking up, the happily ever after. That’s all in the story too, ya know.”

In front of most other guys Ray wouldn’t have even admitted he knew all that. Which was dumb, because everyone in the world probably knew that story. But that was another thing he’d learned real well at school - what you should say you knew, and what you shouldn’t, especially if you were a skinny Polack with glasses. But he’d always liked that about Fraser, that you didn’t have to always act like a big tough guy around him. One time they’d had a whole conversation about how much Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid loved each other, and no-one had said “faggot”. Because Fraser just wouldn’t, ever; he could not imagine a situation in a million years that would push Benton Fraser to use a word like “faggot”. That was another thing Ray liked about him.

Ray had said, “Paul Newman’s just, like, an explosion of sex appeal on the screen, ain’t he?”

And Fraser had agreed, and they’d gone to get hot-dogs.

But now, there weren’t any hot-dogs out here Fraser and had not agreed with his take on Sleeping Beauty. Fraser was saying,

“Well, I suppose for the _Prince_ it all ends nicely, but the feminist interpretation of the story would have that as a forced marriage at best and a rape at worst, and to be quite honest with you I can see where they’re coming from – there’s obviously no way a sleeping woman can consent to - ”

Ray interrupted there, because this was another one of those times when Fraser was right only he couldn’t have said it the same way himself.

“Ok, no, I see that – sleeping women are definitely off the cards for me personally. And really for anyone who isn’t a scumbag. So yeah. Ok. You win: I give you Sleeping Beauty as a dark fuckin’ story that does not end well. And now can you tell me a happy one instead please?”

Fraser went silent again. “I’m afraid I don’t seem to be inspired to tell happy stories tonight, Ray,” he said finally.

No, you don’t get to say that! Ray thought desperately. There are rules here, and you are not allowed to admit you can’t tell happy stories! He blurted out the first thing that came into his head to fill the silence.

“So tell me that story from when we were in the park. You know, uh, Lou Skagnetti? With the, the – the bell, and the smiling, and never eating another princess. Tell me that one.”

They turned to look at each other at the same time, and Fraser held his gaze for longer than he should have. Then he rolled onto his back again and began:

“LooooOOOOOuuuuu Skagnetti lived high on Sulphur Mountain…”  
      

* * *

 

When they reached Inuvik it was worse.

Ray could see the end rushing up if he looked; only he didn’t want to look. He let Fraser head in to the RCMP detachment on his own because it would’ve been stupid to go with him, wouldn’t it? But once Fraser had set off, Ray wished he’d gone along too and felt even more stupid, here in sight of the town, just him and the dogs and all their stinky gear, waiting for Fraser to come back.

Fraser wasn’t gone long. When Ray caught sight of his sure-footed figure returning, he waved.

“Think he took the job?” he asked Dief, but Dief didn’t answer.  
  
Fraser said, “They’ve offered us the use of RCMP accommodation while we make plans. It’ll be pretty basic, but there is hot water so I said yes for both of us, I hope…”

But Ray cut him off. “I _love_ you Fraser! Seriously. Have I told you that before? Cause I really, really do.”

He knew perfectly well he’d said it before, and he remembered pulling his punch at the last minute then too. At this stage it didn’t feel like he had much to lose so he didn’t water it down any more - he’d already made it sound like a joke and he knew that was chickenshit. Of _course_ he loved Fraser; they were partners, of course he loved the guy, and Fraser wouldn’t get all macho about saying that sort of thing either. But he wasn’t exactly coming out to meet Ray half way these days.

No, Fraser just smiled slightly and said, “Likewise, Ray.” So who knew what _that_ meant?

 

  
Ray drove them in, and once they were staring at piles of gear in a warm bare room, he asked,

“They offer you a job?”

He made sure to carry on pulling things out of his pack like the answer didn’t matter to him one way or the other.

Fraser said, “Yes, Ray,” with his face blank and his best, flattest poker voice, and Ray figured right away Fraser had won this hand. He dropped his pack and kicked it away for good measure.

“You take it?”

Fraser paused. He knew Fraser’s pauses meant something, but now, when it counted, he couldn’t read this one. “I told them I’d need a few days to think about it.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Ok then, right,” Ray heard himself babble.

Fraser looked at him with that shuttered face Ray hated and didn’t say anything to help him out. Finally though his jaw clenched and he relented.

“And what about you, Ray? What are your plans?”

“Uh, well, I guess I’ve – ah – I’ve been sorta not thinking about it, actually,” which was only half a lie, because he’d been working so hard to not think about saying goodbye to Fraser and going back to Chicago alone, it was like there was an entire no-go area in his head he was creeping around. So yeah for someone not thinking about it, he was pretty fucking aware of the subject.

“I figure…I figure I need a break after all this time being someone else. Do something different till I get used to being me again, y’know?” Fraser nodded so Ray lurched on. “And I was thinking, I could maybe stick around here some more while I work some stuff out. Would that be ok with you?”

Fraser’s face relaxed slightly at that. “That would be great, Ray,” he said.

Ray wasn’t sure what would happen if he let _his_ face relax; he could feel his muscles tight, like maybe only beard and grime was holding him together. He found himself saying,

“I know it’s gonna suck, going back without you. I know that. That’s what I’m not thinking about, Fraser.”

Fraser’s face started to fall just for a second; his eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly before he caught himself. He put his hands in his pockets then and nodded at the floor.

“I haven’t quite decided, Ray, but I can’t – I can’t stay in Chicago forever. If the RCMP wants me back, it seems like the logical time to go…”

“I understand that, Fraser. I do. If I had of ever thought about it, it woulda been totally obvious you’d go back someday. But I guess I… I never really thought about what I was gonna do then. Which is dumb, right?”

Fraser shook his head helplessly.

“Yeah, ‘cause we’re from different countries. I did notice that. We were never gonna be partners forever, I know that. I know that. Just…it’s gonna suck, is all. I got really used to being around you, and…”

“I haven’t quite decided, Ray,” Fraser repeated, like it was meant to mean more than Ray was hearing.

“Yeah you have,” said Ray.  
  
            

* * *

 

Ray figured he had fuck all to do in Chicago on his own, so he stuck around till all his decompression leave was up. Which maybe wasn’t smart, because if he had to get used to being Ray Kowalski again, hanging out with the guy who came as part of the Vecchio package was never going to help. But the alternative – being adult about this, sucking it up, going back on his own when they’d come up here the two of them – nope, he was going to avoid that until the last damn minute even if in the end it was going to hurt worse.

Fraser started working some shifts - nothing much, just to get reacquainted with the area, he said. But he was still around a lot, and they stayed on in the bare RCMP lodgings together. Ray wondered if Fraser was going to stay living there after he’d gone, another impersonal place to sleep like his office in the consulate. And the thought of that made him start wanting to leave a trace, something human there so Fraser wouldn’t forget him and wouldn’t be so _alone_. But then Fraser at least had the wolf to watch his back, and Ray was going back to an empty apartment and a turtle that was probably dead by now so fuck him anyway. Next minute he was accidentally-on-purpose leaving socks where he’d end up forgetting them when he left, so he never knew which side of that argument was winning.

Even though Ray wasn’t working with Fraser, when they were together it still felt like it always had. Sometimes he had to work hard at it not to count down the days, but Fraser was right back up to bat with anecdotes about wilderness law enforcement and small town life. He even made up for that time on the ice with a bunch of Inuit legends with happy endings.

Just once Ray heard him pause and would have sworn the ending he told was different from the one he’d been going to tell. But hell, he wasn’t gonna criticise; you could see the effort Fraser was putting into it.

Ray made an effort too, that last week, and cooked all the three meals he knew how to make.

“This is great, Ray!” Fraser said with understandable surprise when he tasted Ray’s Bolognese sauce.

Ray leaned back in his chair with a grin. “Didn’t see that coming, huh?”

Fraser was too polite to agree out loud, and besides he had his mouth full.

“You are never gonna find a wife who treats you as good as I do, you know that right?” Fraser looked startled for a second and Ray froze; because that was wrong, that wasn’t what he _meant_. But then Fraser visibly shook himself and said solemnly:

“Yes, I know. I’ve been lucky to have you, Ray.”

But that didn’t mean he hadn’t just said something really stupid. He couldn’t work out what made it so stupid, he just knew it was – what the hell made him think Fraser was looking for a wife anyway? Fraser, who hardly even _talked_ to women? (Because he’s gonna be lonely, dumbass, said a little voice that he didn’t listen to.)

He made sure to leave all the dishes on the table after that, and Fraser cleaned them up eventually.

But Fraser surprised him later, when he looked up despondently from the boots he was cleaning and said:

“I don’t suppose you want to do these for me, Ray?”

Ray threw a dishtowel at him by way of an answer.

 

  
Fraser was in uniform when he drove Ray to the airport, and the sight of it made him _furious_. It was just some normal everyday uniform and it actually suited him better than the dumb red outfit – the high collar on that gave him little double chin, Ray had noticed.  Now he looked different from either the Fraser in Chicago or the Fraser on the ice Ray had known, like he’d already moved on from being Ray’s partner. Maybe that was what made him mad.

They didn’t talk on the way, and he was savagely glad because at least that was better than ending this partnership with something angry or something inane. When Fraser pulled up behind the hangar building and turned the engine off, Ray was afraid he was actually going to cry. At least it was dark so Fraser wouldn’t be able to see his face, and he gritted his teeth and stared straight ahead out the windshield until he got himself under control again. He just knew Fraser was looking at him, but he wasn’t going to risk looking back – in the end, Fraser was actually more of a poker player than he was. Who would have ever figured _that_? He didn’t lie, sure; but he could be teaching the fucking _class_ on all that manly hide-your-feelings shit that Ray had never been any good at.

So Ray managed not to look at him at all until they were standing by the 4x4, back where the hangar lights didn’t reach, and there was nothing left to do but say good bye.  
Ray did look up then, and saw that Fraser’s game face had deserted him. He started reaching out to maybe give Ray a fucking _hug_ – and then Ray couldn’t stand it any more. He grabbed hold of Fraser as hard as he could and smothered whatever _stupid_ inadequate thing he was going to say with a savage, close-mouthed kiss.

Then he shoved him away and they both stood there, frozen, breathing hard and staring at each other. Fraser looked _destroyed_ , like he was about to lose it, and Ray knew there must be that same stricken look on his own face.

“So bye, Fraser,” he said while he could still trust his voice, and then turned and walked away as fast as he could.  
  
To his utter humiliation, he found he was crying before he even got on the plane.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah in my head there's a happy ending. But I'm reeeeaaally sloooooooooooow at writing so if you find yourself emotionally invested you're probably safer imagining it for yourself than waiting for me. Sorry.


End file.
